


My little star

by aimeewrites



Category: Gentleman Jack (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-02-22 22:42:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23734900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimeewrites/pseuds/aimeewrites
Summary: Paris, 1943,Anne Lister, 20, is a medical studentAnn Walker, 30, is French and married to Thomas Ainsworth, a rich industrialist … but has the "experience" that Anne suspects she haswhat happens …different dynamic than the real Anne/Ann relationship but somehow I think it worksInspired partly by the novel Libre d'aimer by Olivier Merle - also used the story in another fandom
Relationships: Anne Lister (1791-1840)/Ann Walker (1803-1854)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 59





	1. Chapter 1

Paris, 1943

The library felt safe. Nowhere really did nowadays, but the School of Medicine Library, with its dark wood-panelling, its muted atmosphere and its dusty volumes, seemed out of time, and out of harm’s way. There she could forget she had no right to be studying medicine anymore. She could forget that she had enrolled at the university with fake papers. She could forget she had not seen her aunt, her father or Marian for six months – since the day the Gestapo had knocked at the door and arrested them. She had been studying at a friend’s, and when she had come back, the neighbours had told her what happened – she had grabbed a few clothes, her aunt’s jewels which had still been in their secret hiding place, and she had left the flat forever. With the jewels, her father had hidden a stash of banknotes, too – just in case… And now, just a few days short of her 22th birthday, Anne Lister was holed up in the place where she felt the safest. Where she could forget she was virtually homeless and orphaned.

She had no real plans either – she really wanted to finish her year, and Vere Hobart, the friend with whom she was staying had told her she could stay as long as she wanted. Of course, her friend had no idea she was risking her life – if Anne was arrested and the Milice realised her papers were fake, if somehow they learnt Vere had offered her a room – they would both be deported. 1943 wasn’t a good year to be Jewish in France. Moreover, Anne, with her dark hair and dark eyes, if she did not quite look like the Semite caricatures decorating the streets walls, did not look very Aryan either. Would her fake papers – from which the big red J and the name Sarah had been removed – and the absence of yellow star on her clothes – be enough to protect her?

When she wasn’t at the library, in class or in theatre – dissections were one of her favourite things at medical schools – she was giving private English lessons. Although Vere came from a well-off family and the flat they lived in was paid for by her father, Anne didn’t want to sponge off her and she insisted on paying her way. With her fake papers, her own father had had some ration cards made too, so at least she could use those, but one needed money too. Luckily, she had found a few pupils to which she taught English, and her pupils’ parents seemed to be happy enough with her services. Probably happier than she was – teaching really wasn’t her favourite kind of occupation, as it entailed interacting with people, which was definitely not her forte when she was not the mistress of the room. And when she wasn’t in either of those places, she was in a café near the university – a small, dark café, full of smoke and noise. She probably shouldn’t – women alone in cafés, especially young ones, were an oddity – but she wanted to give Vere some space. The flat they shared was small, and Vere, although she had kindly offered a small boxroom- with only room for a mattress and her suitcase, liked her privacy. She had told Anne in no uncertain terms that if she ever saw her come back with a man, she wanted her to go to her room and stay there. Therefore, Anne tried to stay out of the flat as much as possible – during the day, the library and the café offered a place to sit and wait. At night, of course, she had no such choice – the curfew ensured she had to stay in her room.

Winter 1943 was cold – so cold that you could see your breath spiralling in white mists, and that the only coat Anne had brought with her couldn’t keep her from shivering. On one particularly icy evening, she sat in her usual corner in the café, trying to make a cup of chicory last as long as possible, when she saw an apparition. Not the Virgin Mary – she wasn’t Bernadette of Lisieux – but a woman who seemed so out of place in the small dusty café that she could as well have been a miracle. The only way in which the blonde fitted with the décor was with her cigarette. Unlike the other patrons, though, she held it delicately to her red lips, and inhaled deeply before breathing the smoke out with a tilt of her head. Her fair hair was shoulder-length, with a front wave and otherwise straight, and she wore a sleek fur stole over her red coat, assorted to the fur pillbox hat she had deposited on the seat besides hers. She wasn’t having brownish chicory either, but a glass of red wine, which alternated to her lips with the cigarette. She apparently did not care about the incongruity of her presence in that café, and although the waiter snapped to attention with more care than usual, only Anne appeared to be disturbed by her presence.

Two days later, the woman came in again, at the same time, and Anne once again sat in the shadows, forgot all about her medical books and stared mesmerised at her. This time a green silk scarf hung around her neck, loosely hiding a row of pearls, and another coat, a fur one, let show the mere hint of a generous cleavage. Once again the stranger disappeared after two glasses of wine, and once again Anne was left overwhelmed, both by the brazen attitude and by a feeling she couldn’t name. Awe mixed with a tinge of envy, perhaps, but also something else. That something else had a name – people usually called it “love at first sight”. However, she had been bruised by “love at first sight” already. So bruised, in fact, that she was now dressing in widow’s weeds, as her friends sometimes joked. Sometimes she explained, sometimes she did not. The fact that Mariana, the love of her life, had died, was not really anybody’s business, nor did they need to know that she still bore the scars of the love affair.


	2. Chapter 2

Anne was in the small kitchen, trying to light the temperamental cooker, when she heard Vere come back. A male voice indicated that her friend had brought her new conquest with her. Anne bit her lips – she had every right to use the kitchen, after all, she did pay Vere a small rent. But she knew she wouldn’t be welcome in the front room with her friend and her guest – not that she had any desire to join them. Finally the hot plate ignited, and she put her saucepan on it. She could hear giggles, but not much else - like in many Haussmanian buildings, the kitchen – where only the servants laboured – had been built far from the masters’ domain. She finished heating her soup and took a hunk of bread, deposited everything on a tray and made her way to her room – she would have to pass the front room door, but with any luck the other two wouldn’t notice her. She tiptoed in the long corridor and suddenly froze – the man sat on the sofa, Vere cuddled in his arms. She could only see his back, but it was enough for her to recognise a German uniform. The strongly-accented French would have let the cat out of the bag anyway. As they clicked champagne flutes together, Anne suddenly unfroze and almost ran to her room. How could Vere? Of course, she had no idea that Anne’s whole family had been arrested. That Anne’s girlfriend and best friend, too, had been rounded up by the Police in July. Her darling Mariana… A small smile came to Anne’s lips, quickly followed by a few tears she wiped quickly with her hand. She had wept then long enough. Her aunt had been warned by the Resistance that foreign Jewish families were at risk that day, and she had tried to warn her old friend Mr. Belcombe, but she had been too late – Mr. and Mrs Belcombe and their daughters Mariana, Nantz and Louisa had vanished. Later, Aunt Anne had learnt that they had been taken to the Vel d’Hiv, and that Mrs Belcombe, who suffered from a fragile constitution, had died there. The rest of the family had been deported to an unknown destination. Mariana and Anne had been childhood friends – they had shared many Seders and many feasts…Then they had hid in a spare room and she had kissed her. A chaste kiss, a tingle on her 13-years-old lips…The beginning of a teenage romance, with red roses, poems and a few more kisses… Anne sniffed and straightened up – she couldn’t yield to memories – they hurt too much. Because after the Belcombe family, her own family had gone…Her father had thought they were safe, because they were French. Very new French – the Lister brothers had come from England to open a jewellery store in Paris, and the store did quite well. Intend on belonging, her father and her uncle had not only married Frenchwomen, but they had also become naturalised. The Belcombe, British compatriots, had not. But her father had been wrong – they had been taken too.

She cried herself to sleep that night, and when she met Vere in the kitchen the next morning, she almost couldn’t meet her eyes. Finally, because the silence was becoming unbearable, she finally asked: “So – your new beau…”. Vere frowned: “What about him? He’s lovely! He brought champagne…and he gave me silk stockings! Imagine – silk stockings…”

Finally, Anne couldn’t hold it anymore: “Vere! He’s a Nazi! A _boche_ ! »

« Donald is not a Nazi! He had no choice! They didn’t ask him if he wanted to be a soldier, you know? Actually, he was a medical student, just like us! But his father – well, his father is a Nazi, I’ll give you that. Herr Cameron’s son couldn’t shy away from fighting for the Vaterland – he made his son join the SS.”

“Your Donald didn’t object, though, did he?” replied Anne bitterly, aware that her fear made her unfair. She knew as well as Vere that the young man had probably not chosen his fate.

“Come on, Anne – don’t be such a prig! He’s a nice man. Very clever too – he knows all those Heine poems by heart…”

“He – is – the – enemy!” enunciated Anne, shaking with rage and nerves.

“I’m not asking you to sleep with him, Anne! What I do in my own home is my business – and if you’re not happy with it, well …”

Vere rose abruptly and slammed the kitchen door behind her. Anne put her head in her hands, trying to stop trembling. She couldn’t very well tell Vere that she abhorred the idea of her having a man in her bed too…A fortiori if the man was a Nazi. If Vere threw her out, she would have no home. She had no one else to turn to. Unwilling to waste food, she forced herself to eat the piece of dry bread on her plate. When she left for the university, her body had stopped shaking but her mind was in turmoil. She could hardly concentrate on her studies, and although she usually did not mind the strong formalin odour mixed with the stench of tobacco in the dissection rooms – most of the male students lit up just to give themselves a countenance – that day she disgraced herself and fainted. From what a colleague told her, she had to be carried out of the room, and the look of disgust the professor threw her when he passed her in the corridor made her redden and want to go and hide in a mousehole. The same colleague invited her to come and eat something with him, but she was too ashamed of herself to accept and she just fled the building, even leaving her bag behind in the dissection room. She only noticed that, however, when she found herself at the door of her favourite café. She foraged in her pockets and could find only five francs, not even enough for what passed for coffee these days. Feeling miserable, she hesitated – could she go in and ask the owner to open a tab for her? He knew her by sight by now – maybe he would trust her. But her aunt had taught her never to buy anything on credit, and she was too proud and too shy to ask. She would just have to go back to the flat. She sighed and tightened her thin woollen scarf around her neck. Dusk was falling and the bitter wind ran right through her, but of course she hadn’t enough money to buy a bus ticket either – she would have to walk. As she turned round with another sigh, a hand was laid on her shoulder and she almost jumped in fright…


	3. Chapter 3

“I am so sorry – I didn’t mean to startle you, Mademoiselle.”

The voice was unfamiliar, but the person to whom it belonged was no stranger. The gloved hand on Anne’s shoulder was the one she had admired from afar when it was holding a cigarette…

“You didn’t startle me – you scared me half to death!” replied Anne shakily. She had thought …Well, she had thought she would be controlled, and her papers would not stand up to inspection, and she would be arrested, and …

“Forgive me. It was not my intention. May I buy you coffee to apologise?” The stranger was smiling at her.

“You don’t have to – I mean – of course, you don’t have to. I’m fine – I’m completely fine. I…”

“You are not, you know. You’re shivering, and you look frozen. Come – I won’t take no for an answer.”

Anne was torn – her natural shyness made her want to flee, but she couldn’t help being curious. Maybe it was a trap? Maybe the woman was one of those souris grises that would denounce her? The cold and her exhaustion won and she followed the woman meekly into the café. The blonde murmured a few words to a waiter and led Anne to a table. She shed her coat and gestured Anne to do the same. Anne hesitated – the jumper she was wearing had become very worn at the elbows, and she certainly had no money to buy clothes. She finally took her coat off and slid her hands on her lap, in an attempt to conceal the threadbare parts.

The blonde reached into her handbag for a cigarette and held the pack out to Anne, who refused with a grimace. The other woman laughed: “I should have guessed you didn’t smoke. Much too young and innocent to be perverted by the evils of tobacco…You’re right, child – cigarettes are bad for you, but they relax me.”

Anne bristled: “I’m not a child! I’m twenty!”

“Ah …Twenty ! » The blonde began to hum and Anne recognised a song by a pre-war singer, Berthe Sylva.

“On n'a pas tous les jours vingt ans, /Ca nous arrive un' fois seul'ment, /Et quand vient l'heur' de la vieillesse, /On apprécie mieux la jeunesse !/ De ce beau temps si vite passé »

(Twenty comes only once in life, not every day/ And when comes old age/ One remembers that too short time and appreciates it better)

She was interrupted by the waiter with two steaming cups and a plate with two croissants. Anne’s eyes bulged. The blonde noticed and shrugged: “I figured you might be hungry – when one has money, one may as well put it to good use…”

“Even with money, I thought … I…” Anne took a tentative bit – she hadn’t tasted anything as buttery and sweet since before the war. She licked her lips before remembering the woman sitting in front of her.

“Once I thought money could buy everything… I know now it isn’t true. What’s your name, child?”

Anne took a sip of coffee – real coffee, not the disgusting ersatz – before answering: “Anne –.” She hesitated – she didn’t dare ask the stranger’s name. She still couldn’t quite believe she was sitting with the woman she had admired so often from afar. Luckily, the woman introduced herself: “I’m Mrs Ainsworth – Ainsworth & Co, you know. My husband’s business.”

Anne didn’t know, but she nodded. She wanted to trust the woman, but since she had been forced to live in hiding, she was wary of anyone and everyone.

“What do you do in life, Anne? Since you’re not a child anymore.”

Anne straightened up – even in her dire circumstances, she was proud of her studies: “I’m at university – third year of medical school.”

Mrs Ainsworth looked at her thoughtfully: “Are you now? Congratulations – it is not an easy path for a woman. I knew we had something in common.”

At Anne’s interrogative look, she went on: “I studied medicine too, would you believe it? I thought – I thought I could make a difference. I had – I have – an older brother. He came back in 1918 – alive, but…”

“Shell-shocked?” guessed Anne.

The blonde nodded: “Yes – I was only five then, but I swore I would try to find a cure. And I did finish my studies, but – then I got married, and my husband …He didn’t want a doctor as a wife.”

“What a waste”, murmured Anne. Then she blurted out: “So you’re only thirty! And you tell me I’m a child…”

“I see you’re good at maths. You’re probably a brilliant student. And yes, I am – but those ten years are worth a lifetime, Anne. Enjoy your youth while you still can.”

Anne sighed and suddenly felt all the weight of the world on her shoulders at the thought of going back to the flat. How could she live like that, not knowing if Vere’s beau would discover her secret and betray her? For one wild moment she wanted to confide in Mrs Ainsworth. She wanted to lay all her troubles at the feet of the beautiful stranger – maybe it would lighten her burden. But she knew better – she shouldn’t trust anyone.

“That’s a heavy sigh for a young woman, dear. And by the way” Mrs Ainsworth lowered her voice: “I know you’re Jewish, Anne – you don’t have to be afraid of me – I haven’t invited you here to betray you.”

Anne’s eyes widened in fright and she was halfway up when the blonde’s hand on her arm once again stopped her.

“I mean it, Anne – I’m a friend. I want to help. Please let me help.”

Anne sat back down and stared at the table. “How did you guess?” she murmured.

Mrs Ainsworth gestured discreetly towards the back of Anne’s chair: “Your coat – there is a slightly discoloured patch – a five-pointed patch.”

Anne paled – what if other people had noticed?

The blonde pressed her fingers on her arm: “Don’t worry – it’s not that obvious. And I have been studying you, seating there in the corner with your books…”

“You have?”

“I have – I was – intrigued…”

“I’m not intriguing – I’m just – ordinary, I guess.”

“You, Anne…”

“Lister” supplied Anne.

“You, Anne Lister, are far from ordinary. If only you knew…” Mrs Ainsworth sighed. “Won’t you tell me what is troubling you? I’d really like to help.”

Anne looked at the brown eyes and tried to read the woman’s character in them. She was fascinating, but was she trustworthy? Suddenly Anne threw caution to the wind – after all, the stranger already knew her deepest, most dangerous secret. She lowered her eyes and began to speak: “My family has been arrested – probably deported. I found – a friend offered me a room, but now she’s dating a German, and …I’m scared. But I have nowhere else to go. I – I have a kind of job – I mean I give English lessons to children, but I don’t make enough money to find another place to stay.”

Anne lifted her eyes and saw that the blonde was beaming, looking delighted. Anne frowned: “You find this funny?”

Mrs Ainsworth hastened to explain; “No, no, of course not. But – I do believe I can help you. My husband is always complaining my English isn’t good enough – it’s quite true. I have no ear for language. But whenever we go to England... Well – it makes it hard to talk to his family. So you can teach me English. And we have a spare room. I mean – we have the maid’s room – it’s quite independent from the flat. Our maid decided she would earn more in a factory – which is not true, but… Anyway, the room is yours if you want it. I wouldn’t – you would be quite free to come and go.”

“But – your husband? He wouldn’t mind …”

“My husband has nothing to do with the running of the household – he’s rarely home, and when he is, as long as he gets a hot meal and – well, you don’t need to worry about him, Anne.”

Anne hesitated and then nodded: “All right – I accept, thank you. But I will teach you in exchange for the room, and I’ll pay you rent.”

Mrs Ainsworth laughed: “Absolutely no need. And now, go and get your things. I’ll wait here for you.”

She raised her hand to ask for a glass of wine, and as Anne left the café and turned back to look at her benefactress through the window, the blonde raised her glass at her.

Ten minutes later, as she was packing her few belongings and leaving a note to Vere to tell her not to worry, Anne wondered if she had lost her mind. She was getting ready to live with a complete stranger. Maybe the woman was a witch, and she had put her under a spell… Or maybe… Maybe her life would just be like that from then on, a series of unexpected encounters and unpredictable choices. Everything she hated – she liked to live by the rules – rules were safe. Uncertainty was not. Trust, in her experience, had to be earned, and yet she was willing to offer it to the fair-haired stranger.

When she arrived back at the café, Mrs Ainsworth threw a note on the table – a rather large note – and took Anne’s arm.

“We’ll take a cab – my home is not far, but I don’t want you to carry that all the way. Right now, we have a stop to make.”

The blonde directed her to a boutique a few metres from the café. When they came in, the owner greeted them enthusiastically. It was obvious that the woman was a well-known client.

“Mrs Ainsworth! What a pleasure! What can I do for you today?”

“Monsieur Poirier. This young lady needs a new coat.”

Anne started to protest but the blonde hushed her with a wave and she subsided, afraid of getting herself noticed. The store owner brought a choice of three coats, and Mrs Ainsworth looked at them carefully, casting one aside immediately because of its unflattering line. Anne reluctantly tried on the other two, and the blonde settled on a navy-blue one, much more stylish than the one Anne owned. When the store owner went to pack it, Mrs Ainsworth refused: “My friend will wear it now – hers isn’t warm enough.” She paid and the owner handed Anne a brown-paper parcel with her old coat.

Once they were outside the store, Anne looked at the blonde reproachfully: “Why did you do that? You know I can’t afford a new coat.”

“Did I ask you to pay for it?”

Anne bit her lips and said nothing. The blonde went on: “I did it for my peace of mind as well as yours – no more looking for “patches”. Now give me the parcel.”

Anne obeyed and her companion laid it on the nearest bench. “There – no need to worry anymore.”

“Not about the coat at least”, murmured Anne. “Thank you – you shouldn’t have, but – thank you.”

“You are very welcome, Anne. Now let’s find ourselves a cab.”


	4. Chapter 4

Ann Ainsworth could feel her protégée shiver each time the cab went past a building requisitioned by the Germans, and in the 16th part of Paris, one of the wealthiest area of the city, those came up at almost every corner. Hotels, like the Majestic avenue Kléber, where the high military German command post had settled, secondary schools, housing SS barracks, and other non-specific buildings for the Security Services boulevard Lannes or the Gestapo on her own street, the Rue de la Pompe. She saw the younger woman tense as the cab stopped only a few buildings from the Gestapo headquarters. She felt the need to reassure her and leant towards her with a small smile: “Yes – I know. I wouldn’t have chosen to live here, but they moved in, we were already here. Don’t worry – you’ll be safe!” The younger woman gave her an uncertain smile in return, and for a moment Ann thought she would take flight as soon as the cab stopped.

The Ainsworth’s 19th-century hotel particulier was hidden behind black railings and in winter, its front garden looked bare and desolate. Maybe she should have warned her companion about the white-walled townhouse, mused Ann as she saw the young woman’s eyes widened. But maybe it would help her accept her hospitality. The house lacked warmth, both in terms of temperature and human relations, but it certainly offered plenty of room. She ushered Anne inside and proceeded to show her around.

“This is the lounge – we don’t use it much. The dining-room. The library – my husband uses it as a smoking room, although I have tried to ask him to smoke outside – I like cigarettes, but I cannot stand the odour of his cigars. Upstairs are the bedrooms. Let me show you yours.”

Ann veered abruptly to the right and went down a few steps. A woman was busy peeling potatoes at a table: “This is Eugénie. Eugénie, this is Anne Lister. She is going to live here and give me private English lessons. Anne, this is our cook – she doesn’t live in, but she comes in everyday – she will take care of your meals.” She didn’t linger in the kitchen and pushed a door leading to a small wooden staircase. At the top of a flight of steps, she opened another door and gestured the younger woman, who still hadn’t uttered a words since they’d arrived at the house, inside.

“This will be your room – it is quite simple, but you will have your privacy. You also have a small bathroom and a water closet.”

Except from a single bed, a chest of drawers and a chair, the room was bare, but not unwelcoming. Ann frowned and added: “I’ll have a desk brought in – you’ll need it for your studies. And now, I’ll let you settle. Eugénie will leave your dinner in the kitchen – I am going out tonight.”

She deposited a light kiss on Anne’s brow and went out. She went to give instructions to Eugénie about dinner and asked if the cook had seen her husband. Eugénie’s answer reassured her: “He said this morning not to bother about dinner for him, Ma’am.” Ann concealed a sigh and felt a little better. Of course, she would have to introduce Anne to Thomas, but …the later the better. It would give her time to concoct a story – maybe she could say the young woman was a friend’s niece, or … She still couldn’t quite believe she had invited a virtual stranger to live with them. Thomas would be – actually, she didn’t know what he would feel, but the less they saw of each other the better. Thomas usually preferred more striking women, not shy young students, but he would certainly notice Anne’s charm – as she had. But he wouldn’t do anything under his own roof …would he? They had been married nine years, and he had had liaisons for probably nine of them. At first he had bedded her too – and then he had got bored with her and moved to another room. Afterwards, he had come back to her a few times, mostly when inebriated, and she had gritted her teeth and fulfilled her marital duties. When her parents had consented to her studying medicine, they had also imposed a condition – Thomas Ainsworth was an up-and-coming industrialist in the motor car sector. Her father had invested in Ainsworth Motors – which had become Ainsworth & Co – and she had been part of the deal. At that time, she didn’t have any interest in boys – she was already beginning to suspect that she might never have – and she thought that as long as her husband allowed her to study medicine, it was finally a small price to pay. As a young bride, it had been easier to pretend – Thomas hadn’t cared much about her reactions anyway, as long as he could take his own pleasure. When he began not to come home at night, she knew he had found better company elsewhere – and she was relieved.

Five years after her loveless match, a friend had lent her _Claudine à l’école_ , by a famous writer Colette. At first she had felt shocked and then. Nothing in Ann’s education nor in her background had prepared her to understand that such a thing was possible between two women. She had been raised on “once upon a time”, when the handsome prince won the hand of the beautiful princess. Although her parents had been liberal enough to allow her to study medicine, she had also been told that her greatest accomplishment as a woman would be to marry and have children. The mere idea that love did not always entail a man and a woman just did not exist in her mind. But with that book…Well, she might not be, after all, abnormal – there were others like her – and others who dared to write about women loving women

And then, she had been afraid – had her friend somehow guessed that she might be “one of them”? Was she herself an “invert”? Ann had told her friend Harriet that she had very much enjoyed the book, and Harriet had smiled knowingly. A few days later, she had brought Ann another book, _La Garçonne_ , by Victor Margeritte, another well-known author. She had devoured it in one night, and then wondered if Harriet had tried to shock her, or to warn her. The heroine, Monique, promised to an older man, discovers he has a mistress. She breaks the engagement and all hell breaks loose – disowned by her parents, but with money from an aunt, she begins to live high off the hog, sleeping with men and women, cutting her hair, drinking and smoking opium… Two books on the same theme could not be a coincidence. The next time they had seen each other, Harriet had taken her to a bar, and she had discovered a whole new world.

She and Harriet had never been intimate – Ann still wondered why. But at Le Monocle, and later on at Le Fetiche, she had found partners and pleasure. She had even met Colette, and other writers – Radclyffe Hall had offered her champagne, and she had spent an evening in her charming company. The clock striking eight interrupted her reminiscences. Her new protégée would probably be horrified if she learnt of her new friend’s deviant proclivity. She wasn’t ashamed of her sexual orientation, but nor would she claim it all over town. Especially now – the new Vichy laws weren’t kind to homosexuals. As for her husband – if he knew, he had kept quiet about it so far. So Anne did not need to know. Anyway, she was a child – probably innocent in all matters of sex. There was no way she would…

Inviting the young woman to live with her had been a whim, an impulse, and yet somehow it had seemed perfectly natural at the time. She just had no idea why she had done it – only that she had wanted to, desperately, and that she would have died if Anne had refused.

Ann put her make-up on carefully and checked her handbag – she usually spent quite a lot on tips… She glanced out of the window and saw her chauffeur waiting near the Delage. She had learnt to drive, and enjoyed it, but she did not like to leave the car in Montmartre unattended. She sprayed a last whiff of perfume on her scarf and left the room, wondering how her protégée was faring, but not daring to go and enquire.


	5. Chapter 5

A fortnight after her installation in the hotel particulier, Anne hadn’t seen a lot of Mrs Ainsworth. She had been – busy – and Anne had not dared to intrude. She still couldn’t quite believe she was living with a family she knew absolutely nothing about. She felt like a country girl forced to leave her family to go and work as hired help in the big city. The décor of the townhouse reinforced that feeling – although her own family wasn’t poor, her parents’ income was in no way comparable with the Ainsworths’.

She hadn’t seen much of Mr Ainsworth either, except for one particularly uncomfortable time. She had just come back from the university in the early evening and the Ainsworths had both been in the lounge. She had tried to slink to her room unnoticed but she had heard a male voice call out: “Hey there! Who’s that, skulking in my house? You haven’t replaced the maid, have you, dear?”

Mrs Ainsworth had then called her in the room and given a rather garbled explanation of who she was, or rather who she was supposed to be – the niece of one of Mrs Ainsworth’s oldest friend, whose parents had been stranded in the South of France – the “zone libre” – and had thought best to remain there. She had added that Anne, being proficient in English, would give her private lessons. He had stood up then and come to shake her hand, introducing himself while openly ogling her – undressing her with his eyes: “Thomas Ainsworth – welcome to our home. You’ll be a very pretty addition to it, I must say… Maybe you could give me a few private lessons too, Mademoiselle…”

Mrs Ainsworth had whitened and Anne had blushed and escaped to her room. She had not seen him again since. Actually, she saw more of Eugénie than anyone else, as she had breakfast in the kitchen. Sometimes she joined her for coffee – the Ainsworths seemed to have very good contacts on the black market - and baguette with a spoonful of jam. Then she left for university, hours before, according to the cook, the mistress of the house rang for her own breakfast. This did not actually surprise Anne – Mrs Ainsworth went out almost every evening. Always with the same man. A man who was definitely not Thomas Ainsworth. She had been breathing the evening air at her window, trying to get a musty smell out of her bedroom and to clear her head when she had seen him the first time. A tall, rather lanky man waiting near a long navy car. And then she had seen Mrs Ainsworth come out of the house, all dressed up in her fur coat and get in the car. The scenario had repeated itself almost every night since and each time, Anne felt almost sick at the sight. She was not as naïve as to think all wedded unions were happy ones. The few times Mrs Ainsworth had mentioned her husband, she had done so in a less than complementary fashion. But Anne didn’t want her to be unfaithful. Since the first time she had seen the older woman in the café, she had built an idealised vision of her, and infidelity shattered her imagined figure. She couldn’t understand why she minded so much, though, and this bothered her. Was it because since she lived in the house, she had seen less of the other woman than before? Once again she couldn’t put a name to her feeling – she couldn’t possibly fathom it might be jealousy…She didn’t go for married women – even for married women who looked like the blonde.

As usual that morning, when she left the house, Mrs Ainsworth’s shutters were still closed. Anne walked briskly to the bus stop – she didn’t want to be late to her first lecture, the professor tending to hail latecomers very publicly…Half an hour later, she slid on a bench with two minutes to spare, near Steph, one of her colleagues who greeted with a wink “Cutting it close, Lister!”

“Hush! I made it, that’s all that matters.”

An hour into the anatomy lecture, they heard noises in the street and doors banging. The students began to murmur and some stood up, intend on seeing what was going on. Five minutes later, Wehrmacht soldiers burst in the amphitheatre, guns drawn, and began to round up the young men and women. Anne began to shiver violently and thought her legs would never carry her to the courtyard. Once there, she realised all the university had been emptied – students, professors and administrative staff were standing huddled together, surrounded by Gestapo agents and soldiers. Many of the women were crying, and some of the men looked close to tears too. It was hard to see what was happening, but soon they got separated in groups and pushed into queues to get their papers checked. Anne thought it would all end there, after all. Not with a random check in the street, not because of Vere’s beau, but because she had wanted to study medicine. Because she had insisted on going to university. As she waited for her turn, she tried to gather her thoughts, but her mind was empty.

“Hande hoch! Schnell!”

She turned her head instinctively to where the shout had come, just in time to see one of her professors fall to the ground, a bloody hole on his forehead. She gasped and staggered and she would have fallen if another woman had not reached out to steady her. When her turn came to show her papers, she took a deep breath and made her face unreadable – she wouldn’t give the “boches” the satisfaction of showing her fear. The Gestapo agent, an older man, gave the papers a cursory glance, and reached out to caress her hair: “Schön – meine Tochter sähe aus wie Du”. She had to use all her willpower to keep from recoiling, and as he waved her to the right, nausea rose in her throat. She would never know if her fake papers were good enough, or if she was saved because she looked like the man’s daughter, but half an hour later, she and the other people who had been “cleared” were released in the street.

She did not even consider waiting for the bus. She walked all the way back to the house, arriving breathless and ashen. When she arrived at the front door, she realised her keys must have got lost in the crush. She rang the bell and almost jumped at the noise it made. She heard footsteps and Mrs Ainsworth opened the door, a pen in her hand, a stocking seam half-painted on her right leg. She took one look at Anne, dropped the pencil and opened her arms. Anne rushed into them and began to sob on her shoulder.


	6. Chapter 6

Mrs Ainsworth let her cry in her arms for what seemed like ages. Anne was almost hysterical, too distraught to explain the cause of her tears. However, the hand that stroked her hair and her back helped her calm down. When she had sufficiently recovered, she explained as best as she could what had happened. Mrs Ainsworth made a horrified face and sighed: “I’m so sorry. I was afraid this would happen. You’re not going back there, of course.”

Anne faced her with a frown: “What do you mean, not going back?”

“What I say, Anne – of course you’re not going back to university, _ma petite étoile_. It’s much too dangerous.”

“Don’t call me that – and don’t tell me what to do either! For goodness’ sake, you know nothing about me and I know nothing about you! I don’t even know your Christian name! You have no right to…”

All the tension she had felt during the day, all the rage too came out in the words and the older woman recoiled at her tone, as if Anne had slapped her. If she had noticed, Anne would probably have backed down, but she was in full flow: “How dare you decide for me? You’ve no right! You’re not my mother, or …or anything to me!”

Reeling from the verbal assault, Mrs Ainsworth’s eyes moistened too and she swallowed hard: “I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to tell you what to do. And I certainly don’t want you to see me as your mother. My name is Ann – I would like if you used it – Madame makes me feel old. As for not knowing much about me – you’re right. I’m sorry about that too. We haven’t had much time to talk. Just give me ten minutes – I’ll finish getting dressed and tell Booth I’m not going out tonight. We’ll have dinner together and – talk.”

Anne then took in the satin negligée the older woman was wearing, still damp on the shoulder from her own tears. “Oh yes, of course – go and tell your lover you won’t be available tonight!” she retorted bitterly.

Ann Ainsworth blushed and grinned suddenly, half abashed, half mischievous: “I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong end of the stick there, Anne. Booth is not my lover – poor man, he would probably be quite horrified… Booth is happily married, and my driver. I can drive, but I occasionally need someone else to.”

Anne’s blushes rivalled Ann’s: “I’m so sorry, Madame – Ann. I thought – I know it’s none of my business, but…”

Ann sobered up: “And now I guess you’re wondering where I go in the evenings.”

Anne bit her lips and nodded.

“Well – I might tell you later, _ma petite étoile_. Now go and freshen up, and I’ll finish dressing up and tell Eugénie we’ll serve ourselves dinner tonight.”

Once in her bedroom, Anne wiped her face with a wet washcloth and tried to restore some order to her tousled hair. She also changed her blouse and skirt, which had been splattered with mud. When she timidly joined the older woman in the living-room, she found her lounging on an armchair, looking very comfortable in a black velvet day gown. She wished she could look as stylish and elegant, but most of her clothes had had to remain behind.

“Come in – sit down – here, near the fire. Have a drink – Picon, Suze, kir, scotch?”

Anne didn’t want to say she had never tasted any of those and murmured: “What you’re having, Ann.”

Ann took pity on her protégée and even though she wanted nothing more than a stiff scotch, she poured two glasses of white wine with Crème de cassis. It was more than enough to warm someone as little accustomed to alcohol as Anne, and after a few glasses, Ann decided they’d better have something to eat before the younger woman lost all her wits to drink. After a rather frugal and tepid supper, they remained in the kitchen, the only warm room in the house.

“So – what do you want to know about me, Anne?”

By then Anne was feeling pleasantly relaxed, and although she had not forgotten her ordeal, she was at least past the shock. She knew Ann Ainsworth was right – it would be foolish for her to return. She did want to know if her friends had made it alive – Steph was very deeply implicated in the Resistance, and she figured that if he had been able to escape, he would go into hiding. Maybe she could go back to the café – she suspected the owner had contacts in one of the networks – maybe he could find out for her. If she managed to stay safe until the end of the war …Maybe she would be able to go back to medicine. She turned towards Ann: “How could you bear to abandon medicine – for a man?”

Ann smiled at the scorn in the last word: “It’s not like I had a choice. Once I was married… Thomas was in charge. What he wanted was a pretty wife to parade in front of his friends and business contacts. I think he liked it that I wasn’t a complete nitwit, but he didn’t want me to be cleverer than him either. He didn’t want me meeting other people either.”

“But that’s just terrible!”

“It is what it is, _ma petite étoile_. And after I discovered his – indiscretions – well, he became more amenable to give me freedom, but still he forbade me to open a practice, so…He still wanted to be the only breadwinner.”

Anne bit her lips: “That doesn’t sound fair. He gets everything, and you get – what? A cheating husband?”

“And money – when my father died, I got a little inheritance, but nothing as much as what Thomas gives me. Status, too – I am a married woman.”

Ann’s eyes saddened as she said that and Anne wondered what the older woman was thinking of. She didn’t know how to ask, though, so instead, she asked about the other thing she’d been mulling over: “Why do you call me that?”

“I’m sorry?”

“ _Ma petite étoile_ – why do you call me that?”

“Oh …Well, do you know the song?”

Anne shook her head and Ann began to hum. “ _C'est l'image de la flamme_

_Que je ressens en mon cœur_

_C'est la douceur de ton âme,_

_Le reflet de mon bonheur »_

She really had a lovely voice, reflected Anne – a Dietrich-kind of voice. Ann could probably have gone on the stage if she hadn’t married – another career down the drain because of a man.

“It’s hard to explain”, went on Ann. “It’s like – you brought something to my life. Like a star shining a little ray of “starshine” in my heart.”

Anne blushed and Ann laid her hand on her arm: “I’m sorry, Anne – I didn’t mean to embarrass you! I shouldn’t have said anything. But if you really mind, I won’t call you that again. I swear!”

“No – no, I don’t mind” Anne replied softly. “I prefer that to Anne anyway – but you can call me Anne, too.”

When both women went to bed that night, they both had a little something glowing inside. An embryo of something. Or like the song said “a little golden nail that sparkles over the roofs.”


	7. Chapter 7

After a few days of not going to university and only going out to see her few students, Anne was getting fit to be tied. She had gone back to the café, but the owner had told her he hadn’t heard from Steph. She didn’t want to believe the worst, but the Resistance network he belonged to had been decimated, and she had little hope of seeing him again. Ann had insisted on taking her shopping for clothes, and lending her some coupons, and she had reluctantly agreed, as she couldn’t keep going to her pupils’ in the same worn clothes. Ann had also chosen for her an evening dress, although Anne had protested – where would she wear it?

Sometimes they played cards together in the afternoons, or Ann went out while Anne pored over the medicine books Ann had unearthed from the attic for her. Along with the university, she had had to abandon another safe haven, the library. In the evenings, either they dined with Ann’s husband or more often than not she dined alone in the kitchen while Ann was out. Anne still wasn’t sure where Ann went in the evenings. When she had asked her, Ann had told her she was seeing friends. Anne couldn’t help but think those friends were probably of the male persuasion and that one them must also share more than drinks and dancing with Ann. She couldn’t help feeling a little miffed about it, either. When she was playing cards with Ann, or just listening to the wireless, she felt almost happy – she could almost forget her situation. But when she was alone, the dark thoughts came back with a vengeance.

As she was reading in her room one night, she heard voices in the hall – loud voices, threatening voices. Immediately, she began to shake – what if the Gestapo had come to arrest her? Ann had tried to reassure her several times – her husband had good friends among the SS officials – he would never be suspected of harbouring a Jew. Indeed, some high-ranking officers came for dinner sometimes, and she hid in her room then. When she calmed down enough to listen, she understood the raised voices were only Thomas Ainsworth’s and Ann’s. She didn’t want to eavesdrop, but even though her room was well away from the hall, he was speaking so loudly she couldn’t help it. When she caught the gist of the argument, she bit her lips – it was definitely none of her business, and yet she was so curious…A few minutes later, she wished she hadn’t heard anything. She tried to put her hands over her ears, but of course it was too late – too late too not to hear the slap and the running steps up the stairs, followed by a slammed door. Then other steps stalking towards the front door, and this one slamming too.

After that she didn’t hesitate anymore – she hurried to Ann’s room and knocked gently. She could hear the other woman sobbing and when Ann didn’t answer she pushed the door and slipped inside. When the blonde lifted her head from the pillow, Anne saw the red fingermarks on her cheek and she rushed to her side. Sitting next to Ann on the bed, she took her in her arms and held her close.

“Shh – it’s all right – I’ve got you. It’s all right – he’s gone.”

“You shouldn’t be here, Anne. What if he comes back?”

“He left – don’t worry. I want to be here.”

Ann wiped her eyes with the hand and whispered: “You shouldn’t be here – you shouldn’t have heard that. I should never have told you to come here.”

“I’m glad I’m here – you’re not alone, Ann.”

“But – aren’t you horrified? I don’t repulse you?”

Instead of answering, Anne held the blonde closer and let her head drop on Ann’s shoulder. They clung to each other and Anne lost herself in the embrace, the words she had heard twirling in her head, making no sense and still somehow, in a twisted way, feeling so right. “You thought I wouldn’t notice? In a hotel – in plain daylight? How dare you! You disgusting whore! That woman – where did you find her? One of your so-called friends? Another freak like you? Or did you pay for her to eat your pussy? Did you? With my money?”

When Ann sought her lips, Anne responded gently at first, and then avidly with hers. Ann’s hands caressed her blouse, and Anne found herself wishing the sensitive fingers were stroking her bare skin instead. When they slid under the fabric and found her nipples, she shuddered and felt a current of warmth spread through her body. She discovered sensations she had never experimented before, and when Ann stopped her caresses abruptly Anne whimpered in distress, her body protesting the sudden deprivation.

“I can’t, _ma petite étoile_ – it wouldn’t be right. I can’t do that to you.”

“Please, Ann – please!”

“No – not like that – not now. You need to go back to your room now. Tomorrow – we’ll talk.”

They did talk the next day, Ann doing her best to explain how she had realised she enjoyed the company of women. All night long Anne had pondered the revelation. Not only the fact that Ann was not like other women, but the fact that her body had come alive under the woman’s fingers. Never had it been so intense – not with Eliza, not with Tib, not with Mariana…And she was so jealous – jealous of the woman – or women – who shared Ann’s intimacy. She would have to tell her that she was “like that” too – she couldn’t let Ann think she was an innocent or that she was disgusted.

They had naturally settled on the sofa, Anne leaning against Ann, the blonde’s fingers in her hair. Ann didn’t apologise – she was not ashamed of her sexuality. She wasn’t exactly proud of the number of women she had bedded, though. But when she was at the club – when she was free, it was all too easy to make a conquest. Each night she could have a different woman, and she rarely refused. She couldn’t say if her desire still drove her or if these encounters had become a need, an urgent void to fill. She treaded softly, however, because she couldn’t have borne it if Anne had rejected her. She knew now that if she had Anne she would need none other, but she was loath to lure her into clandestinity and a life subject to public scorn. And yet, when Anne asked her whether she would take her along one night, to the music hall, she didn’t refuse.


	8. Chapter 8

The evening didn’t happen at once. Ann went out alone several more nights before she suggested Anne come with her. And during the days, nothing more happened, to Anne’s great displeasure. She relished each time their hands brushed against each other, and the few butterfly kisses Ann dropped on her cheeks or her brow when they were alone, but she wanted more. Her body had never reacted like this – as if it had been burnt by a soothing wind…

Each night she remained alone in her room, knowing Ann was out with others, she let her thoughts stray from her books and she tried to imagine the music hall – that mysterious place which seemed to bring so much pleasure to the older woman. This wasn’t an easy task, as she obviously had never frequented such a place. Ann had told her singers came, and an orchestra, and attractions – she hadn’t said which kind, and Anne imagined magicians, or maybe animal numbers… Before the war, her aunt had taken her to the circus and to the theatre a few times to see operettas – _Les Trois Valses_ with Yvonne Printemps, where she had fallen in love with the singer’s voice, _Au pays du soleil_ , with Jenny Helia and Alibert – at the time the song “ _J’ai rêvé d’une fleur_ ”, with its lyrics _“J’ai rêvé d’un amour/qui durerait toujours”_ had meant for her she wished she would be with Tib forever – and _Le pays du sourire_ \- and in her mind the music hall was a mix of both. The rest she didn’t try – didn’t want to imagine. Now that she knew the power of Ann’s charm, she didn’t want to picture it working on other women. Finally, one very grey, laden and wet day, when she had arrived back at the house thoroughly drenched and miserable, she dared to broach the issue again. She didn’t want to nag, really, but she felt so despondent she just felt she wouldn’t be able to bear it if Ann left her alone again that night. She was almost taken aback when she won her case and Ann told her to go and get dressed.

Anne hurriedly went to put on the little black dress Ann had bought her, thankful that the latter had also given her a pair of silk stockings, for she had no time to paint her legs. She didn’t usually wear any make-up and despaired a little at her ashen complexion. She pinched her cheeks, hoping to bring a little colour on them, and then blushed when she looked at herself in the full-length mirror. With the fabric restrictions, the skirt showed a lot more leg than she was used to…

Ann’s smile when she greeted her at the bottom of the steps made her redden even more, but for a totally different reason – it also made her heart go pitapat… Booth gave her a smile too as he opened the car door for her – an encouraging smile, it seemed to her, and indeed she was in need of courage. During the drive she suddenly had the urge to ask him to turn around and take her back to the house. Ann must have sensed Anne’s unease because she laid a comforting hand on her knee and the blonde relaxed a little. Booth parked the car in a dark street, under a streetlamp and stepped out. Anne was going to follow him but Ann increased the pressure on her thigh: “We’ll wait a little, darling – he’ll come back to get us.”

This cloak-and-dagger stuff did nothing to calm Anne’s nerves. “Why? Are we- are we in danger?”

Ann shook her head: “No – not really. But it’s always better to make sure. Ah! There he is – let’s go, _ma petite étoile_.”

They followed a short dark corridor to a small badly-lit room where a very pretty girl took their coats. Then Ann took Anne’s arm and led her towards another larger room which seemed full of people and smoke. Above the hubbub of conversation, she could hear a woman sing, and as she scanned the room, she spotted a small stage with a sculptured blonde in a red satin sheath dress. Her deep voice compelled Anne to listen to the song and she blushed crimson when she took in the words. She had never heard such explicit lyrics… Ann hummed along and did not appear unduly troubled. “What is this song?” murmured Anne.

“ _Obsession_ – Suzy sings it rather well, doesn’t she?” said another deep, tobacco-stained voice near them. Anne nodded as Ann smiled at the newcomer: “She does indeed, Madame. May I introduce Anne?

Anne did a double take as she looked at the owner of the voice. Three-pieces suit, black tie…

“Anne – a charming name for a charming young lady. Come with me, please, Marie will find you a table.”

Once they were seated, Anne turned wondering eyes towards Ann: “I thought – I thought she was a man!”

“That was Madame Frank, the owner of this establishment.”

“Frank? Surely not her real name?”

“I think her real name is Frances Pickford. And as for her appearance…Well, she finds it more comfortable – truer to her real self. Many come here just for that, you know – to be themselves.”

Anne looked around the room – she hadn’t been to many bars, and never to a music hall, but at first glance she couldn’t really see what Ann meant. Most of the tables were occupied by couples, and on the dance floor, bodies huddled together in a languorous tango. Anne noticed that Madame Frank was now dancing with a young woman. The men looked very dapper in suits and ties, and the women wore colourful dresses and ornate hairdos. She was going to tell Ann she couldn’t see what she meant, when a young woman approached the table with a bottle of champagne: “Your usual, Madame?”

“Yes, thank you, Marie.” Ann handed her a note and the young woman leant to kiss Ann on the cheek. Ann draw her in by the chin for a long lingering kiss on the lips, and Marie reciprocated eagerly. When she left, Anne looked at Ann with reproachful eyes: “Is she one of your conquests?”

“You shouldn’t care so much, _ma petite étoile_ – Marie – is just doing her job.”

“Her job as a prostitute?”

Ann pursed her lips: “Marie is not a prostitute – she’s a hostess. Her job is to make sure the customers consume enough alcohol – I’ve been told they are paid according to the number of corks…”

“So you’ve never slept with her?”

Ann blushed and didn’t reply – now she had Anne with her, she could imagine how some of the sleazier aspects of the place could shock the younger woman.

“I – have paid for some “services” in the past”, she admitted reluctantly. “And some of the girls here do work as prostitutes – but not the hostesses.”

“I see.” It was all as clear as mud for Anne, but she didn’t want to show her ignorance. “Somehow I didn’t think there would be as many men…” she remarked.

Ann laughed: “Oh, my dear – look more closely, will you?” Then, taking pity on her younger companion, she explained: “Tonight is a women-only night. All these women are taking risks – after all, trousers-wearing is illegal for women – but they are definitely not men.”

Anne opened her eyes wide and indeed, now that she knew, she saw the dancing couples differently. Even with cropped hair and even sometimes monocles, some of the suited figures had feminine attributes. She hadn’t imagined women could look like that – she herself had often been told off for looking too masculine…

“Enough for now – let’s go and dance- I’ll teach you how to tango.”

Later that evening, Madame Frank claimed Ann for a dance. As she expertly led her across the floor, the cabaret owner complimented Ann on her companion: “Your girl is very pretty, Madame. But how old is she?”

“Hmm – Anne is twenty, I believe. More than of age, I assure you…”

Madame Fleur gave her a knowing look, and Ann bit her lips before replying: “I’ll be careful, I promise. When I – took her in, I never thought – and anyway, nothing happened – yet. She’ll be twenty-one in…” Ann realised she had no idea when Anne’s birthday was. “Soon.”

“Just be careful – I’d hate to lose one of my best customers to one of those barbaric new laws.”

While Ann had been claimed by Madame Frank, Anne sat idly at the table, sipping the rest of her champagne. She was interrupted by a smooth voice. When she raised her eyes, she found a tall, handsome flapper in a grey serge suit smiling at her.

“I’m Tib and you look lonely – would you care to dance?”

“I don’t – I don’t really dance.”

“Of course you do, Mademoiselle…”

“Anne – and I don’t, really I don’t – besides, I’m with someone.”

Anne looked at the dance floor but Ann seemed very far away.

“Seems to me the someone must be otherwise occupied. It’s a crime to leave such a beautiful woman alone – let me get you some more champagne.”

The newcomer hailed one of the waitresses, secured two full flutes and offered one to Anne. Anne took it hesitantly and brought it to her lips to put up a good front. She was getting a little tipsy and couldn’t help thinking Tib was really very kind to bother about her when Ann had deserted her. Tib was trying her best to draw her, if not onto the dance floor, at least into conversation when two hands landed rather possessively on Anne’s shoulder.

“Tib – I’m sure Anne told you she was not alone.”

“Ann – well, you shouldn’t leave your girl alone if you don’t want anyone to hit on her…”

“Anne is not “my girl”; Tib, but I think you should go – I can see someone making eyes at you over there”, replied Ann, pointing towards a pretty blonde in a corner.

Tib seized Anne’s hand and kissed it, nodded to Ann and left the table. Ann slid back in the vacated chair and looked at Anne: “Are you all right? Did she bother you? Tib can be a bit full-on sometimes.”

“You know her too,” accused Anne. “You know everyone here! Have you…”

“Shh” Ann’s finger came to rest on Anne’s lips. “No, I haven’t slept with her. Nor with everyone here, but I have money, and that can be useful, here as well as anywhere else. People know me.” Ann replaced her finger by a kiss and Anne’s whole body tingled in reply. Madame Fleur came by their table and gave Ann a warning look. Ann scowled: “Was there something you wanted to tell me, Madame?”

“Yes - Cathy asked after you – I take it you’re not going to see her tonight?”

Ann hesitated for half a second: “Tell her I’ll find her later.”

When the orchestra stopped and a pianist started to play alone, all looks turned towards the stage, now dark and empty except for a single chair on which a woman came to sit. Anne gave Ann a questioning look: “Another singer?” Ann felt a little uneasy and cleared her throat: “Hmm – no, not exactly, dear – this might not be quite to your liking, but – please try to keep an open mind.”

When the woman stood up and began to move lasciviously to the music, all eyes focused on her. Then she threw her stole to the side of the stage and putting one leg on the chair, she started to unhook one of her stockings, which she threw negligently to the side too. Then the other…Then she slipped out of her dress and Anne watched mesmerised as she followed suit with the rest, all the while following the piano’s melody.

“This is – this is unexpected”, she murmured to Ann, her throat curiously dry.

“Mademoiselle Sibella is the best stripper here – very talented, don’t you think?”

Anne could only nod. A little while later, Ann excused herself and disappeared in the back of the club. Now feeling pleasantly buzzed, Anne didn’t really care, and even accepted a dance with Tib when the latter came once more to try her luck. When the paso doble segued into a tango, Tib did not let go and Anne, sneaking a dance at their table and seeing Ann still wasn’t back, decided she might as well go on dancing. She was losing herself into the music when Ann cut in and Tib reluctantly abandoned her. They finished the dance and Ann suggested they ought to go home.

In the car, Anne asked her where she had disappeared to, but Ann remained evasive. “Just some business to clear up, _ma petite étoile_ \- nothing to concern yourself about.” Anne buried her head in Ann’s shoulder, unwilling to do more in the presence of the chauffeur, but Ann had no such qualms and her hand ventured on the breasts barely hidden by Anne’s dress. Anne stifled a gasp and tried not to react, but the increasing pressure on her delicate skin drove her to distraction…


	9. Chapter 9

Now Ann had shared that part of her life with her, her thirst for it must have been quenched. Or at least so thought Anne, and so she hoped. Because for the last month, she had almost never spent an evening alone. Whether they were playing cards, or listening to the wireless together, or Ann was playing the piano, they spent some quiet time together.

During the days, their routines had not changed. Ann still went about her business which didn’t include her. As far as she knew, Ann led a rather idle life – a few hours per week given to the Red Cross, and many hours to enjoying herself as far as one could in an occupied country. Anne saw her leave with a tennis racket sometimes, or just dressed to the nines to go and have lunch with friends. As for herself, some of her pupils had been sent to the country by their parents, so she had even more time on her hands. She didn’t dare go to the cinema, too afraid of raids, but she couldn’t stay indoors all day either, so she started going to the café again. One day, as she was pouring over her books, she almost died with fright as someone put his hands on her eyes.

“Shh- it’s me – don’t worry.”

“Steph! That was a really stupid thing to do, you – you …” She pummelled him with her fists before falling into his arms. “I thought you were dead! Thank God – you’re all right.”

And indeed, Steph looked very much thinner, but still the same man she used to know – only with hair dyed blonde and thick black-rimmed glasses.

“Well- I’m not – I just had to disappear for a bit – but I’m all right now – I found a job at a chemist and a place to stay.”

Anne was elated her friend had survived the raid. Although Steph did not have much time to spare, he sometimes met Anne at the café and walked her home afterwards. One evening, Anne forgot to be discreet and told Ann about her friend – about how she wished she could find a real job, too. After all, if Steph had managed with his fake papers, so could she.

“So you want to jeopardise your safety for a job? And where would you find one anyway? You’re already putting yourself in danger by giving your little private lessons!” snapped Ann.

Anne chewed on her lower lips and tried not to cry – she couldn’t stand it when Ann acted all bossy and superior.

“As for that Raf,” Ann went on, “How do you know he’s not a collabo? Don’t you find it a little suspicious that he managed to escape the raid?”

“Oh, like your husband, you mean?”

“Don’t talk about things you know nothing about, Anne!”

“How dare you say that? What do you know about being hunted anyway? About having to hide? You and your comfortable little life, with your loaded husband! You and…”

Like a wounded animal, Anne lashed out with everything she could. Ann reddened and riposted: “Be quiet! You know nothing about my life – nothing about my husband either! Just – just be quiet.”

“I should leave – I’ll ask Steph if he know where I can stay. It’s not safe for me here – and you don’t respect me. You still think I’m a stupid child.”

“You can’t leave me!”

“Of course I can – I can’t stay here!”

Ann fell to her knees in front of Anne and laid her head on the younger woman’s lap, gripping her thighs. “Anne – Anne – _ma petite étoile_ – you can’t leave; you just – you just can’t – I need you – I… I think I love you.” she finished in a murmur.

Anne wanted to bask in the sweet words forever- she wanted to believe them, she wanted to believe everything would be all right. “I – I more than like you too”, she murmured back.

The bed in Ann’s bedroom was larger, but it was in her own narrow bed that Anne discovered how Ann’s touch could bring her to ecstasy with the merest caress to her core and her soul. Never, even with Mariana, had she gone that far. She knew that night there would be no going back – no dithering between the frontiers of pleasure and decency. If this was a perversion, then so be it – she was a deviant, and she would thoroughly enjoy being one, so long as Ann was with her.


	10. Chapter 10

Her days felt less empty now her nights were filled with love. Even though she still yearned for an occupation that would keep her busy while Ann went to her business, she felt more settled, less impatient. Ann still disappeared for most of the day without explanation, but it mattered less. She took her to Le Fétiche a few more times and although Anne enjoyed dancing in Ann’s arms, their waists pressed together in a tango’s falsely chaste embrace, she couldn’t bear the predatory glances thrown at them, nor the way Ann sometimes undressed with her eyes some of the more feminine women there. One of those nights, the cabaret had been opened to men, and Anne had begged Ann to leave – the mere presence of German officers made her skin crawl, and the risks were too great – if her relationship with Ann came out in the open, if one of Ann’s former conquests were to expose them, they would both be sent to prison, or worse. She was still a few months shy of her 21st birthday, and until then they would have the Damocles sword of penal sanctions hanging over them.

As their relationship strengthened, they became less careful – sometimes, if Thomas Ainsworth warned Eugénie he wouldn’t come home for the night, they would sleep in Ann’s bedroom, and any twinges of apprehension Anne had then would usually dissolve under Ann’s demanding fingers. She had a moment of panic when one morning Eugénie had brought breakfast while they were both still asleep. Anne had spun her a tale about Ann not feeling well and her having stayed with her during the night to make sure she didn’t become sicker. It didn’t quite explain why both women were naked in bed, and they both knew Eugénie wouldn’t be fooled, but Ann had assured Anne the maid wouldn’t say anything.

It should have served as a warning – they ought to have been more cautious. But they were both so starved of affection and so eager to explore their new feelings that staying apart seemed like an insurmountable ordeal. And yet, at the bottom of her heart, Anne knew they were living on borrowed time. Therefore, it came as a shock, but not so much as a surprise when the next time Ann’s bedroom door burst open at night, a furious Thomas barged in and glared at them disgustedly.

“How dare you do that under my roof?” he spat at them. “So I was right – that’s why you brought that little whore to live here - so you could have her at hand and shag her whenever you wanted! Don’t think I’ll let you screw me over that way – actually, I think what you dykes need is a good dose of cock.”

The two naked women cowered under the sheets as Thomas strode over to the bed and threw Ann to the floor, turning towards Anne as he unzipped his trousers and let his member out. She remained frozen in terror, her eyes riveted on something she had never seen before and was waved threateningly at her. Her eyes darted towards her lover who was pleading with Thomas to leave them alone. As Ann tried unsteadily to rise to her feet, he backhanded her again to the floor and turned again towards Anne with a lecherous grin. “Ready for your first taste of dick, slut?” He was towering over her, making it impossible for her to move. She closed her eyes and resigned herself to the inevitable when she heard a crash and Thomas’s body slumped to the side. The remains of a large vase laid shattered on the ground and Ann threw a robe towards her: “Quick! We have to get out of here!”.

Ann grabbed her dress and shoes and hurried Anne out of the door, turning the key as they went out. “This will buy us a little time, but not much. We have to get your things.” Anne was shaking so much she could hardly close the clasp on her bag. She threw on some clothes and followed Ann to the garage. As Ann started the car, Thomas’s words kept ringing in Anne’s head – she couldn’t quite believe he hadn’t followed through with his threat. She was safe – for now. As Ann drove into the night, Anne looked at her companion’s set jaw and at the large bruise that covered part of her cheekbone – what would become of them now? And where was Ann taking her?

Ann stopped the car a few streets away, in front of an unassuming block of flat. She stepped out of the car and Anne followed her silently. They went up to the last floor and Ann knocked on a dark blue door. A bleary-eyed Booth opened it and let the two women in.

“Booth – I am so sorry to disturb you – I – we need your help,” Ann whispered. Booth’s eyes went to the bruise on her cheek and he grimaced: “He did that? My God – the bastard – I could…”

“I know. I need to find somewhere safe for Anne to stay tonight. He – he was going to hurt her.”

Booth nodded: “Of course – she can stay here – my wife and the kids are asleep, and there’s not much room, but I’ll bring blankets for the settee. You’re staying too, of course.”

Ann shook her head: “I can’t – I have to go back. You take care of her – I’ll come back tomorrow and we can – make plans. Thank you for your help, Booth.”

She slipped out and Anne let herself be guided to the settee.

“You’ve had a shock”, said Booth gently. “Oh – this is my wife Nathalie. Nathalie, this young lady is a – cousin – of Madame Ainsworth and she needs a place to stay tonight.”

The woman smiled and nodded: “Pleased to meet you, Mademoiselle.”

Booth brought out a glass and a dark-green bottle: “Here – drink this!”

Anne swallowed the strong liquid and almost choked on its bitterness, but the alcohol brought her out of her sideration state. Booth and his wife went back to their room and left her to doze on the uncomfortable settee, but she only fell asleep in the early morning hours, in a fitful nightmare-filled slumber. She woke up suddenly as she felt a small hand on her back, and found herself staring at a tousled-hair little boy.

“I’m sorry, Mademoiselle. I told Michel not to wake you, but of course he didn’t listen! Michel, leave the demoiselle alone and go to school!”

Anne smiled tiredly at Booth’s wife: “It’s quite all right, Madame – I’m the intruder – he has every right to want to know who’s sleeping in his home.”

“Even so! Would you like to come and have a bite to eat? I’ll show you the bathroom, too – it’s on the landing, I’m afraid.”

“Please, Madame Booth – don’t trouble yourself – I can’t thank you enough for taking me in like that. But I would like to use the facilities, thank you.”

The shared loo and bathroom were luckily free, and Anne splashed some water on her face before joining the Booths in the kitchen. He wasn’t there, but a small girl grinned at her over the table. “This is Evelyne – our eldest. Come on, Evie, hurry up – you’re going to be late for school.” The child took a big bite of bread and jumped off her seat. Anne shyly took her place and accepted a small piece of bread and marge, mindful of the fact that she was eating the Booths’ rations. She drank something of indefinite nature which was at least hot and then went back to sit in the main room, leaving Nathalie to carry on with the housework.

At eleven in the morning, there was still no news of Ann and Anne was at her wits’ end. She hated to be helpless, but she knew going back to the house would only make things worse. She wished she was more religious – at least she could pray for Ann. It was quite ironic, really – she was being persecuted for being Jewish, and yet her family had never been overly practicing. She did send a quick word of appeal for Ann to the One above, but without much conviction. It may have worked, though, since less than an hour later Booth was back with Ann. Booth took Ann to his own bedroom and Anne sat besides her on the edge of the bed and gently peeled off the other woman’s dark glasses, revealing a black eye. Then she took off Ann’s Chanel scarf and rolled up her unseasonal long sleeves, revealing purple finger marks on the pale skin. Anne stifled a cry – she had seen bruised and battered bodies in medical school, but to see the welts on her lover was unbearable. Especially knowing she was part of the reason they had been incurred.

“My darling – what had he done to you?” she murmured. Somehow the pain in Ann’s eyes spoke of more than visible bruises. Ann stared vacantly for a few minutes before imprisoning Anne’s hands in hers: “I’m all right, ma petite étoile – I’m all right.”

“Of course you’re not all right – what happened, Ann?”

Ann lowered her eyes and spoke in a small voice: “He – he did to me what he wanted to do to you. I tried to fight him off, but…” And then she began to sob uncontrollably in Anne’s arms. The latter held the blonde tightly, overwhelmed by feelings of pity and guilt – if she had never met Ann – if she had never accepted her offer – this would not have happened.

After a few minutes, Ann swallowed back her tears and straightened up: “We cannot stay here, _ma petite étoile_. So here’s what we are going to do – for a few days, we are going to stay at a hotel. I – I need a little time to arrange things. And then, we’ll go away – together.”

Ann made to get up and Anne protested – the blonde looked exhausted – but to no avail. Ann wanted Booth to take them to the hotel – to safety. They said their goodbyes to Nathalie and left the small flat. At the hotel, they had to present their papers, and Ann spun a tale about her cousin visiting, her own home having sustained water damage and therefore having to put up in a hotel for a few days until the repairs were done. She assured the hotel receptionist that the only available room, with a double bed, would do perfectly well. And when they finally found themselves in the room and got rid of the nosy porter, they fell on that double bed and undressed each other with urgent gestures. Their hands explored each other’s skin and soon Anne’s mouth replaced her hands, leaving a trail of kisses on Ann’s body, gently soothing with her lips each bruise and weal. Ann urged her along, bucking and shivering under the touch, but when Anne reached her intimate parts she stifled a cry and Anne immediately stopped her caresses and bit her lips worriedly.

“I’m sorry, ma petite étoile – it’s just – I can’t – not today.”

Anne admonished herself internally – how stupid of her not to have thought of that herself. A vision of Thomas’s large member invaded her brain and she shuddered.

They remained in bed for the rest of the afternoon, content just to remain entwined and comfort each other. Then, as the sun started to set, Ann stirred: “We have to go to the club, _ma petite étoile._ ”

Anne stared at her uncomprehendingly, but Ann got up.

“We have to – I need to see someone.”

Since Booth had taken the car to Dreux, they took a cab. Ann was wearing her dark glasses and she had put on a long-sleeved dress again, with a high neck that hid most of the bruises. They did not dance much that night, and for a while they just remained sitting, listening to the music. Then Ann stood up and went to talk to Madame Frank. Anne couldn’t hear their conversation, but Ann came back to her and asked if she would be all right by herself for a little while. Although Anne didn’t want to be left alone, she nodded and Ann disappeared in another room. When she reappeared almost an hour later – an hour which had seemed like eternity to Anne – she was accompanied by a blonde with short hair, wearing a smart black three-pieces suites. They separated before Ann headed back to the table.

“Who was that?”

“Just someone I needed to see, ma petite étoile.”

Anne wanted to continue with the questioning, but something in Ann’s behaviour told her not to. They went back to the hotel soon afterwards, and Ann went directly to the bathroom. Anne heard the water running and when Ann came back into the room, she was wearing pyjamas and she went straight under the covers. When Anne joined her, the blonde remained stiff in her embrace.


	11. Chapter 11

The next morning, Ann told her she had to go on with her usual routine for a few days until she could arrange their departure. She dressed carefully, applied as much make-up as she could to cover the bruises on her face and told Anne she would be back around teatime. Anne pouted a little but as she still felt guilty for the recent events, she didn’t dare protest too much. After an hour alone in the hotel room, deciding she couldn’t stand it anymore, she headed towards the café. Steph was at the bar eating something that could have been anything from boiled swedes to tripe. She grimaced and went to sit in her usual dark corner where he joined her. She knew she must look a mess – in the mirror that morning, her eyes were bloodshot and dark shadows hung under them. She didn’t know whether she wanted Steph to ask questions, but he was too discerning not too. So she threw caution to the wind and told him. Everything. It may not have been wise, but she needed someone to confide in, and she trusted him not to judge her. He didn’t make any comment, but she saw his fists clench as she told him about Thomas’s behaviour. She refused his offer of help and assured him Ann was taking care of everything. When they parted, Anne knew she would never see him again – she couldn’t have explained why.

For two days, Ann remained moody and almost unapproachable. Anne put it down to Thomas’s assault and tried to be as understanding and gentle as possible, even though uncertainty was getting to her. Ann still hadn’t told her what her plan was, and she felt restless and unsettled. She replayed in her mind the events of the previous days and couldn’t help thinking she was missing something. Finally, she couldn’t stand it anymore and was ready to confront Ann with her anxieties about their future when Ann spoke out first.

“ _Ma petite étoile_ – I found us a way out – a way to leave. But …it’s dangerous, and – I hate to put you in at risk, but I can’t see any other way. Do you trust me?”

“Always, darling.”

Ann swallowed hard and went on: “I – I haven’t told you everything. I couldn’t – but now… Anyway – I’m a member of Alliance – the resistance network. Not a very important member, but I’ve been helping around – with fake papers, and messages and – finances. The network is in contact with the British Intelligence Services, and with Special Operations Executives agents here in France. One of them – I can’t tell you her name, but – I helped her, and she owes me a favour. She can get us on a plane to England the day after tomorrow. Then – I’ve got friends in London, and we can make a life there. What do you say?”

Anne had been listening wide-eyed, and suddenly the pieces of the puzzles fell together. She would have followed Ann to the end of the earth, but there was one thing she needed to know. It wouldn’t make any difference, but she had to ask.

“Ann – that last night at the club – the blonde – was it her?”

Ann nodded silently.

“Did you – did you sleep with her then?”

Ann lowered her eyes and nodded again. Anne whimpered and tears came into her eyes. Ann reached out to her but Anne shied away: “No – no, not right now – I can’t.”

“I had to, _ma petite étoile_ – it was the best way to convince her to help us. What happened with Catherine – it has nothing to do with us. I love you – only you.”

Ann extended her arms again but still Anne refused the embrace: “You say you love me, but you sleep with another woman.” Then, suddenly remembering something, she said falteringly: “That first night you took me to the club – you were with her too. You left me alone. You – I was there, and you went with her.”

“I’m sorry – I didn’t do it to hurt you. That first night – I was a fool. She wanted to, and – I thought you weren’t interested. I was afraid. I’m so, so sorry, Anne. Please forgive me.”

Anne’s eyes brimmed with tears and she gulped. Finally, she accepted the outstretched arms and buried her head in Ann’s shoulder. “I – I need time, Ann. You betrayed me. I wish – I wish you had told me. If I hadn’t guessed – you would never have said anything, would you?”

Ann held her tighter but didn’t reply. No, she wouldn’t have. She had never intended causing her beloved any pain, and yet – she yielded to temptation. Now she was afraid – what if Anne refused to come with her? She couldn’t leave without her, and if she stayed, Thomas would find her, and she couldn’t do back to him. She couldn’t divorce him – he would fight it. Anne disengaged herself from Ann’s arms and went to stand by the window, looking away. She didn’t have any more to say – she felt numb – frozen in pain. She thought she would be sick. She wanted to go out – to walk the pain away - but it was already past curfew and even though part of her wanted to be caught, because that would hurt Ann, show the older woman she hadn’t been able to protect her after all, another part, another voice in her head screamed that she was too young to die. Instead, still without a word, she wrapped herself in the bedspread and settled for the night on the large armchair, letting a miserable Ann have the bed.

All night Anne fought with herself, torn between her head and her heart. Her head told her that Ann would never change – that once a player, always a player. Her heart wanted to believe love would conquer all. And when the sun rose behind the Paris roofs, her heart won – she would follow Ann to England.


	12. Epilogue

** Epilogue: Paris, September 1945  **

The two women strolled in the bombed-out streets, taking in their surroundings with dismay. A year and a half after their departure for England, it was the first time they were back in the French capital, with no intention of remaining there more than necessary.

Neither of them would ever forget the night of their escape. They hadn’t known until the very last moment whether the plane would be able to land. Booth had brought them and Catherine to a small village in the darkest depths of Normandy. The drive had been mostly silent – although Anne had politely shaken her rival’s hand, she could not possibly have talked with her. Ann, stuck between the two of them, had never felt more uncomfortable in her life. Finally, the clouds had lifted and Catherine had installed three small lights in a pre-arranged pattern on the ground. Only when the Lysander had flown off had Anne realised the magnitude of what she was doing and she had tried to forget that they might well be shot to the ground before they even reached the coast of England. The small aircraft, stripped of all equipment to allow room for the passengers and manned only by a single pilot, could also become their tomb. She and Ann had clung to each other for warm and comfort, and it was entwinned in each other’s arms that they had landed in an airfield in the British Midlands, with only a small suitcase each to their names.

That night, in the hotel room the SOE had arranged for them, they had made love with all their might and all their hopes. They would have ripped each other’s clothes off if material wasn’t so precious in those days. Instead, Anne had undress Ann reverently, making her body ache with arousal as each undone button was accompanied with a kiss. Not letting go further than the shirt, Ann had begun the same process, feeling Anne’s heart beat a tattoo under her fingers. They had fallen naked onto the bed and as Ann had parted her legs, she had moaned in an agony of feelings – they had rocked in concert and as they had merged into a total connection, her body had ignited with desire and unknown urges.

Only a fortnight after their flight, the Allies had landed in Normandy. They had found a small flat in London, and thanks to Ann’s Resistance actions , they had been recruited by the Intelligence Services. Anne was glad to be earning a little money, although Ann had enough for the both of them – one of the last things she had done before leaving her home had been to visit Thomas’s safe to get cash and gold. She had brought enough to the marriage not to feel guilty about taking back what was rightly hers. The upheaval had been greater for her than for Anne – Ann had never lived without domestic staff, and just boiling an egg or making toast had not come easily to her, but she had learnt. Then had come May 1945, and the Liberation. And a few weeks afterwards, a letter from Booth – Thomas and his then-mistress had been found shot in his bed, executed by the Resistance for collaborating with the Nazis. Anne had suspected Steph, but she would never have any proof. It did not matter – Ann was free.

They stayed in Paris just long enough to see the Booths and to arrange for the sale of Ann’s house – its contents had been looted. They had no more ties to France – once back in London, Anne would finish her studies and open her general practise in family medicine, and Ann would be able to enjoy life free of the tyranny of her husband, a new life, a new love. She quite fancied getting into photography. They would never forget the past, but they would have a future.


End file.
